“Never—never while I live!” grated Zenas. “Then I’ll have to finish yo’, suh. I offered yo’——” He said no more, for at that instant an egg thrown with all the force Zenas Gunn could command struck him full and fair in the mouth. The little man went down as if shot. “Whee!” shrilled the professor. “Got him then!” Fitts kicked and floundered and then rolled over on his stomach, lifting himself to his hands and knees. The sounds he emitted were trying on those who heard him. At this juncture two ladies suddenly appeared on the scene, having approached during the excitement without being observed. They were Sarah Ann Ketchum and an Englishwoman whom she had found in the hotel and induced to accompany her to the scene of the duel. Major Fitts had written her a passionate note of farewell, telling her about the duel, where it was to be fought and when. This he had intrusted to a servant to be delivered that morning. The servant had not waited for Miss Ketchum to rise, but had rapped at her door until she got up and received the message. When she comprehended its contents she lost not a moment in dressing and getting the other woman to accompany her to the scene of the “deadly” meeting. When she saw Major Fitts on his hands and knees, giving utterance to those distressing and terrible sounds, she shrieked and ran forward. “Oh, heavens!” she cried. “He is slain! He is wounded unto death! He is dying! Hear him gurgle, and groan, and gasp for breath! It is a horrible tragedy!” “Great horn spoon!” exclaimed Buckhart. “Sarah Ann is on deck, pard.” “She has arrived too late to prevent the fearful deed,” said Dick. The lady from Boston saw Professor Gunn. She shook her clenched hands at him and screamed: “You murderer! You have killed the poor major! You have slain the idol of my heart!” “Great Cæsar!” gasped Zenas. “So she acknowledged that human wart as the idol of her heart! Well, she may take her idol, eggs and all!” Sarah Ann fell on her knees beside the major, clasping him in her arms. “Poor, poor hero!” she sobbed. “Tell me where you are wounded.” “Fo’ the love of goodness, go ’way!” gurgled Fitts thickly. “What is this horrid odor?” she exclaimed chokingly. “It is frightful!” “Turkish cemeteries always smell that way, madam,” huskily declared the major. “Please go ’way! Please let me die in peace!” “Never! I will remain by you until the last! I will—— But I can’t endure this terrible odor! I’m growing faint! And what is this sticky substance all over your clothes?” “That’s blood—pure blood.” She held up her hands. The light was now sufficient for her to see. “But it’s not red—it’s yellow!” “That’s the color of my blood, madam. I’ve had yellow fever. Do go ’way!” “But it smells—it smells—— Why, it’s everywhere! It’s on the ground!” “I’ve shed gallons of it already. I beg yo’ to leave me!” “And those brutes are permitting you to bleed to death! What monsters!”